We're So Beautiful (and so broken)
by thetideisrising
Summary: AU; psychiatrist Elizabeth Keen has painted herself the picture of a quaint life; a job she loves, and a husband on top of it. (Even if he tends to be drunk more often than not.) All of this comes crashing down once Secret Service Agent Donald Ressler enters her life, whisking her away to the President's mentally ill son. (eventually keenler)
1. I Think the Cover is About to Crack Open

**Hey guys! Here is my first keenler multichip, which is AU and I'm very excited to share with you. Since I don't have a beta, any mistakes are my own. No promises, but hopefully this will be finished by October 1** **st** **! Enjoy and review! xx**

This is how it starts: him, with a blonde girl dancing against his chest, and her, with her husband's hands snaking up and down the sides of her tiny green dress in the heat and chaos of a club, lights flashing before each other's eyes in the darkness. They'll never admit it when you ask, (eyes brightening and smiles widening as the relay the story for the umpteenth time) but they were both extremely tired of their lives as they were; she, a psychiatrist who spent a good portion of her time driving up to Shepard Pratt from her home in downtown DC, where she lived with a devoted yet abusive husband who was aspiring to adopt a child due to her infertility; and he, a marine turned secret service agent with an on and off again relationship with the blonde girl he held tightly to his abdomen. (Obviously they were on again on this particular night)

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the work of a higher power, but either way she found his hand in the dark and latched on to it with him retaliating by squeezing her fingers. (They ignored the sparks that fly from the point where their hands meet to their respective bloodstreams and the way that her hand fit perfectly in his calloused one)

"I'm sorry," she blurted as she realized that the hand she's holding is not her husband's, whipping her head full of brunette curls toward him.

"It's fine," he responded gruffly, and her eyes wandered up and down his toned body. (He does the same to her.)

They turn away and that night she dreamt of blonde hair and blue eyes and he dreamt of brown hair and the way her hand felt in his.

The incident is not brought up again and is pushed from the front of their minds.

Until five months later when she received a phone call on a crisp winter day in February, snow falling from the sky and into her hot chocolate and her lavender scarf wrapped tightly around her neck.

"Keen," she said sharply into the phone as she came into view of her townhome.

"This is Agent Donald Ressler with the Secret Service, I am assuming the person I'm talking with is Elizabeth Keen?" a gruff voice responded, and the hair on her back became supersensitive and it wasn't because of the cold.

"Yes this is Dr. Keen," she corrected whilst rolling her eyes at the man's ignorance.

"I'm on my way to your home as we speak, the president requires your services."

"Excuse me?" she asked, nearly dropping her hot chocolate.

"Classified. I'll debrief you once we arrive at a secure location, I'll be there in five minutes."

The line went dead, and she ran up the steps of her front porch and into the front door.

"Lizzie?" her husband called.

"Tom, I got your coffee, but, I just got a call and there's this emergency and they need my help immediately –"

He grabbed his coffee from her and waved his free hand in dismissal, and quipped, "maybe one day my wife will actually be home."

She chewed her bottom lip anxiously as she readjusted her scarf. "Tom," she sighed. "I don't have time for this right now, you know it's not my choice, if I had a choice I swear –"

He snorted. "Your dad was right about you, Lizzie, you're too invested in your work. I should have married that middle school teacher I fucked a week before I met you."

Blinking back tears, she nodded and moved towards the door. Jokingly, she added, "And I guess I should have fucked my professor."

A crisp double knock interrupted the argument.

She glared at him. "We'll finish this conversation when I get back."

He scoffed. "What do you have a boyfriend picking you up now?" He sat upright. "She's my wife, jackass," he yelled. "Love you Lizzie."

She rolled her eyes to mask the pain, and opened the door; only to reveal the man she had mistakenly grasped hands with at the club Tom had dragged her to five months ago. She could tell he was just as shocked as she, and the widening of his eyes gave way to a slight look of longing.

She pursed her lips to clear her mind.

"Agent Ressler?" she asked cautiously.

He cleared his throat.

"Yes. Elizabeth Keen?"

She gave him a half smile.

"Doctor Keen."

Though he was usually stoic, Agent Ressler managed a small smile.

"Of course ma'am. I'm here to escort you to a blacksite."

She raised her eyebrow in confusion as she followed him to his car, jumping into the passenger seat. "Blacksite?"

He nodded, buckling his seatbelt and turning his head to back out of the parking spot. "The president doesn't want any whiff of this to hit the press. It could be devastating for the upcoming re-election." He pulled onto the street with ease, turning left at the traffic light. "I'll tell you more when we arrive."

She bit her lower lip. "Okay." Pausing as if she were afraid to ask, she turned toward him. "Would you mind if I put the radio on? It really helps me get into a professional mode."

He shrugged. "Sure."

She smiled broadly, leaning across the armrest to turn the stereo on, flipping through channels until she found a pop station. She adjusted the volume, eyes rolling into the back of her head as she quickly said, "I _love_ this song."

And though she had only met this man a few minutes before, she suddenly found herself signing along to the tune, her fingers toying with the tips of her hair.

He couldn't help the small smile that played at his mouth as she swayed to the beat of the music, and it was like he had known her his whole life.

They arrived at the blacksite twenty minutes after he began to sing with her, (so forty minutes in all) and the airy atmosphere the pair had created in the car still lingered beneath their professional demeanors as he opened her door and lead her through the building.

"We call this the Post Office. Every president is allowed to pick a blacksite that is off record and President Cooper chose this abandoned post office. It actually was an FBI blacksite until President Cooper acquired it five years ago from Tom Connolly."

She raised an eyebrow. "Connolly? The jerk that murdered the Senator?"

He nodded stiffly. "President Cooper used to be friends with Connolly until he attempted to frame his wife for leaking classified documents to the press." He cleared his throat, handing her a file from the inside of his blazer. "Anyway, you're here because of his son. The president has three children, Dembe, Samar, and Harold Jr. His oldest son Dembe works in the Navy guarding the Chief of Navy Operations, Raymond Reddington. His daughter Samar has been all over the news recently seeing as she just married computer genius and billionaire Aram Mojtabi. President Cooper's other child, his son Harold Jr., is the youngest of the bunch, he's sixteen and he's always been a little bit… _off_. For a while the president chalked it up to his computer games, but yesterday he fell of the banister in the east wing because he decided that he wanted to be an acrobat. The first lady thought that he was joking, but he kept muttering German to himself."

Liz pursed her lips. "Interesting, looking through his file it says that he's proficient in French, Arabic, and German as well as English. Do his parents know his IQ?"

He smirked. "You'll have to ask Charlene."

She looked at him in confusion as he led her from the elevator they were in to a large open area.

"This is the war room," he commented as she looked around in disbelief. He ushered her forward to the first family, all of whom were sitting in desk chairs facing the elevator. "This is Dr. Keen," he said, leaving her side to stand beside the president.

President Cooper stood, shaking her hand. "I'm Harold Cooper, it's an honor to meet you Dr. Keen. I've admired your work since my Bureau days."

She felt her cheeks begin to warm as she shook his hand. "The honor is all mine, sir."

He laughed. "This is my wife Charlene," he said, gesturing to the first lady. "My son Dembe, my daughter Samar and my son-in-law Aram, and this," he said, pointing toward the youngest man in the room. "Is my son Harry."

She smiled, extending a hand toward the teenager. "Hi Harry, I'm Elizabeth, I'm here to hang out with you this afternoon."

Harry nodded in affirmation.

"Lizzie!" a bold new voice boomed into the room, and she had to fight the urge to roll her eyes.

"Red!" she exclaimed, enveloping the man into a hug.

He pulled away, smiling at her. "It's been too long Lizzie, I think the last time was poor Sam's funeral."

She grimaced.

He winked at her. "You'll have to bring that _catch_ of a husband with you to our next happy hour. Dembe, can you remind Luli to schedule a happy hour with Lizzie here for me," he added before shifting his attention toward President Cooper. "Harold you bastard, I told you she's the best, I'd never want any other shrink than Lizzie to look after my children."

Liz scowled, looking between Agent Ressler and the president. "Red, while it's brilliant that you are here, I would like to remind you that this is not a social hour," she began, her lips forming a thin line. "I'm here to do my job, which is not to babysit you while you flaunt your latest excursion for the rest of us to envy."

He beamed.

Liz cleared her throat, turning toward President Cooper.

"You're his father obviously, but I want to know how well you actually know him. Profile Harry," she said, her voice altering to its business tone.

He looked at her with a smile on his face. "Profile Elizabeth Keen."

She wasn't expecting this from the President of the United States, even if he did have a background in the FBI. She bit her lip in contemplation, cautious on how to proceed. "My collogues call me "sir." They think… I'm a bitch," she confessed, her eye contact dropping in favor of her wrist. "Like most kids who raise themselves, I can display narcissistic behavior. I can be withdrawn, disconnected. Uh… I have a deep yearning to understand the human mind and its workings." She pressed her lips together so that they formed a thin line.

He smiled, his voice booming. "Excellent! As for Harry, he's never been as social as Samar, but never as stoic as Dembe. He's brilliant, Charlene and I spoke to all of our kids in Arabic and English when they were little and only Harry was able to differentiate the two languages. He didn't talk for the first six years of his life, and when he did he recited the Gettysburg Address word for word. He's had a core group of friends throughout his life, until recently when he began to experiment with drugs and alcohol. At first we thought that his irrational behavior was because he was consistently drunk but after we disposed of all of the alcohol in the areas of the white house he has access to, the behavior continued." He shook his head as if he were still trying to make sense of the situation. "My family has had a history with bipolar disorder, but he's never displayed the depressive side. He mumbles to himself all of the time in German and French and we've had translators come in only to be puzzled because the way that he organizes his sentences are off. He sometimes hits himself again and again crying out that someone is touching him." His pressed his lips in a line.

Liz nodded, tapping her pen against the file. "Is it okay if I write on this?" she asked.

Agent Ressler cleared his throat before adding a forced, "Yes. Anything else Dr. Keen?"

She shook her head, a piece of hair falling out of her ponytail as she scribbled vigorously on the file folder. She toyed with her bottom lip, glancing upward to look Harry directly in the eye.

"You want to eat some chocolate chip cookies with me?" she asked out of nowhere, dropping the file into her tote, and wrapping her scarf around the collar of her suit. She extended a hand toward him, and he gladly took it, standing up beside her.

"Lizzie, you can't do that," Red chided from his position on the coffee table.

She shrugged. "Why not? Besides Agent Ressler is coming with us."

Agent Ressler's eyes widened in masked surprise.

She playfully chewed at her lip, a faux innocent smile appearing on her lips as she looked him in the eye. "I smuggled some of my chocolate chip cookies into your sedan. And I want to have a pow wow with Harry, and it's not as fun without you and you damn well know it so come on Agent Ressler let's get going," she finished, and to the shock of everyone including herself, she grabbed his hand, attempting to rally him in skipping away with her and Harry.

"She's interesting," Charlene said with a mixture of surprise and confusion on her face.

"That's just Lizzie for you," Red beamed, a large smile spanning his face. "She's rock hard with everyone but her patients and it's brilliant. Also, fabulous job of assigning Donald to her, I have a feeling her current marriage won't work out…" and with that he picked his fedora up from the table and left.

Dr. Keen was sprawled across the backseat of his car, hair spilling out of her ponytail as she roared in laughter at something Harry had said. She was at ease with the pair as he dished what his life at school and in the white house was like. She was easily cracking Harry open as they talked, but if you weren't trained in how to resist interrogation like he was, then one would never notice it. It was something he liked about her, she still did the job while allowing herself to get on a personal level with them, something that none of the therapists he had were able to do, and for that he respected her.

He still tried to remain the stoic Agent Ressler, responding to her gruffly when she asked for his opinion on her life stories and attempting not to smile at her antics. As the day progressed she was slowly creeping beneath his skin and though he should have probably cared, he just couldn't bring himself to stop her.

Two hours passed before she started to pack up the remainder of the cookies, placing the box discreetly underneath the passenger seat with a slight smile gracing her features. She gestured to him with a gentle cock of her head, and he silently exited the car, waiting for the pair to begin to walk toward the elevator before shadowing them.

The war room was silent as the threesome stepped of the elevator, Dr. Keen stalking ahead as she flipped through the file, eyes peeled for her tiny scribbling. Harry ran past her, taking a seat next to Charlene while he stayed behind Dr. Keen, subtly guarding the elevator doors.

She bit her lip (which Agent Ressler began to notice was a habit of hers) and tucked the file under her arm, straightening her head to address the room. She cleared her throat.

"As of right now," she began, her voice full of authority, "I am 80% positive that Harry has Schizophrenia."

The only sound in the room was a muffled sob from Charlene.

"If you truly value my opinion," she continued. "I usually like to gather three weeks worth of data from three hour long sessions a week before declaring a diagnosis and a plan for meds, because if you want to win this re-election, he's going to need to go on meds." She shrugged. "Either that or Shepard Pratt, if he indeed has Schizophrenia."

She tapped the pen to her lip, and Agent Ressler was amazed at the fact that out of the whole room they were the only ones without a somber expression on their faces. She was good, he admitted to himself, and hopefully he'd be seeing her more often.

It was quiet for a moment, and she was sure she nearly wore her welcome.

"Agent Ressler," President Cooper said, his eyes on Dr. Keen.

"Sir," he responded, his usual stoic demeanor immediately intact.

"I trust you with protecting Dr. Keen from this point on, no one but you will drive her to and from these sessions, is that understood."

He nodded curtly. "Yes, sir."

The next time President Cooper spoke, he addressed the entire room. "This information is considered classified, if a word of this reaches the press, any one of you could be sentenced with treason, understood?"

Choruses of "yes sir's" followed, and looking pleased with himself, he stood up to shake Dr. Keen's hand.

"Thank you for your time Dr. Keen," you are dismissed.

She smiled warmly, tucking the file under her arm. "I am truly honored that you called me," she replied honestly, readjusting her scarf and turning toward Agent Ressler.

"I guess it's just you and me again," she whispered as she approached him.

He stared at her blankly, and side-by-side they got into the elevator.

"Oh come off it," she said teasingly. "You don't have to be Agent Ressler all the time, I preferred you when you were signing with me in the car."

The elevator dinged, and they walked off, him quickly jumping in the driver's seat of the black suden and her in the passenger seat.

"You know, you're not half bad," he replied to her as he pulled out of the parking lot, flashing his badge to the man at the gate.

She opened her mouth in mock surprise, and immediately it was if the berlin wall had come crashing down and the light and flirty atmosphere returned.

"I guess you wouldn't mind me turning on the radio then?"

He chuckled, and she turned on the radio, proceeding to sing immediately, and he joined in.

Later, as they found themselves pulling onto her street, he turned the radio down significantly, and glanced at her for a fleeting second, debating with himself.

"What?" she asked, confusion creeping into her voice.

"Nothing," he replied defensively. "It's just… if you want, you can call me Ressler."

She snorted. "Well I guess you can forgo the doctor and call me Keen," she replied sarcastically as he pulled in front of her house.

"See you at seven o'clock on Wednesday morning, Keen," he said, and she nearly rolled her eyes at him as she got out of the car. "Don't be late."

She laughed, responding with a quip, "I can't wait, _Ressler_ ," before turning on her heel and dodging inside.


	2. I Watched You Through the Window

**Here's chapter two! Just so you know there's a time jump!**

"Damn it Tom!" she cried as she looked out their shared bedroom window, only to find their shared car missing from the parking spot.

She fished through her purse for her phone as she attempted to finish straightening her hair with her other hand. Dialing Tom's number, she shoved the phone between her ear and shoulder, getting increasingly frustrated each time the phone rang.

"Hey babe," he answered, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Don't you hey babe me," she replied with a hint of sass.

"Oh come on babe, I'm just up at the sports bar on 23rd shooting pool with some of my college friends," he said, his voice dripping with faux affection.

"Yeah well I need the car, Gina is coming tomorrow and I need to run some errands so that we have enough food," she said, hissing in pain as she burned the side of her neck with the flat iron.

"Gina who?"

"Zanetakos, my college roommate. Anyway, you're missing the point," she jabbed.

"I won't be back until well after midnight, have your new boyfriend take you. I mean, you two have been riding all over town for the past two weeks," he responded.

"Tom how many times do I have to tell you that Agent Ressler was assigned to me, I am not cheating on you with him! And he's a federal agent; he probably has other matters to take care of besides me."

Tom madding a clicking noise. "Well that's too bad Lizzie, I guess you'll have to walk. I got to go, it's my turn to play. Love you!"

In her frustration, she threw her phone across the room before breaking down.

Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang, and knowing that it was Ressler, she reapplied her mascara and eye shadow, attempting to make herself look presentable in the eyes of the public. She flung down the stairs, picking up her tote in the process.

"Ressler!" she exclaimed with a plastered smile (although a tiny bit was genuine, she did enjoy seeing him) as she opened the door.

He chuckled at first, grabbing the door from her so that he could hold it open. He nearly stopped her in alarm, however, as she passed.

"Keen what happened to your neck?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

She blushed, attempting to shrug it off. "I burned it straightening my hair, it's not too bad." In reality, it hurt like a bitch.

He pressed his lips in a line. "Um, it's pretty bad, here, I have a first aid kit in the car, I think there's some burn cream in it."

She climbed into the passenger seat as he dug through the trunk for the first aid kit, finally materializing it, only to continue to pour out the contents in search of the cream.

He let out a groan in frustration. "I'm out of burn cream, damn it," he cursed.

She giggled like a schoolgirl.

"Were you a boy scout? You seem over prepared for everything."

He smiled as he shut the trunk. "Ha, very funny. We'll have to stop at the store on our way back from the post office."

She tilted her head. "Won't you have work?"

He shook his head, climbing into the driver's seat and starting the car. "You're my last job today."

Her eyes widened. "Huge favor, could you take me to the grocery store after work? Tom took the car out," she explained.

He shrugged in response. "I don't see why not."

"Thank you so much I could literally kiss you right now!" she exclaimed whilst turning the radio on and beginning to sing along.

He shook his head and joined in.

"Drama queen," he said in between songs.

"Boy scout," she scoffed.

They continued their banter and she found herself reminiscing on the past two weeks, a slight smile gracing her features. She had engaged Harry in a different sent of scales every week, scribbling the results in the red notebook she carried with her everywhere. (Ressler asked her what it said as soon as he noticed it's regular appearance after their fourth session, and she had responded with a, _paint the town red,_ which for some ungodly reason made him laugh so hard he had to pull into a gas station to collect himself.)

The second part of each session was reserved for talk therapy, she attempted to refrain from the, "how does that make you feel," questions, instead focusing on what some people what have referred to as unimportant aspects of his life. Questions that were commonly asked included: What type of TV shows do you usually like? Do you like to stay up late? How soon can you smell cookies after they start to bake? Ressler had thought that the last question was a scam, however, she vigorously wrote down the answer in a neat column in her notebook. Charlene was mostly present, she hadn't seen nor spoken to the President since the first day she arrived at the blacksite two weeks prior.

This particular day was no different from the rest; the pair walked off the elevator to find a set of three lounge chairs, a coffee table, and a laptop. Keen poised herself in the chair facing the other two, and Ressler followed to stand behind her, pressing a hand to his ear to turn the com on.

"Here," she said, twisting around in the chair, handing him a piece of paper with a pen, her lips forming a straight line.

He groaned in response, rolling his eyes at her.

"Not another one of _these_ forms," he complained, his fingers brushing hers as eh grabbed the form from her hand.

She laughed. "Just because you're a kickass agent does not mean you have the ability to live outside the law. Have you ever been to the guidance counselor?" she teased. "If you're parents come with you they have to sign a privacy form, standard protocol."

He shook his head as he signed them, the corners of his mouth softly lifting upward. "I think that you're trying to learn how to forge my signature so that when you steal my credit card you can head out to a bar and get wasted."

She snorted, a hand flying over her mouth in order to contain herself.

The noise of clapping behind them quickly sent both parties into work mode, Keen flipping around in her seat with the form in her hand.

"The amount of sexual tension between you two is exhausting," the voice of Raymond Reddington said as he climbed into the chair across from Keen.

"What are you doing here Red?" she demanded, desperately trying to ignore the slight flush in her cheeks.

He shrugged. "I had time off, I wanted to see how my pet project was doing."

She narrowed her eyes and he laughed, standing up and moving toward the elevator.

"Harold Jr. is in the hospital, Lizzie," he called over his shoulder. "The press is having a field day."

She stood, swinging her tote onto her shoulder and falling in step with Ressler.

"So much for keeping this private," she murmured, shaking her head as the pair returned to the car once more.

"When we get to the hospital, keep your head down," Ressler said, his voice immediately going back to gruff agent mode.

"Yes sir," she said, and she desperately wanted to laugh at the formality of the situation after the past couple weeks, but she refrained from doing so, just like how she didn't turn the radio on.

They got to the hospital in record speed, and he shielded her with his body as they attempted to slip by the sea of reporters and into a side door unnoticed, his voice lingering in her ear to let him do the moving. A few photos were taken, but from the angle he was sure they couldn't have gotten a whiff of her.

"Agent Ressler, Secret Service, requesting clearance to see POTUS" he said to other members of the secret service, once he got into the building. Gesturing to Keen, he said, "Dr. Elizabeth Keen, she's been tending to Harold Jr. for the past two weeks."

She tapped her foot in annoyance as the other agents called up to the room, explaining the situation to their superiors.

"You're clear," a short man said, and they stalked off toward the elevator.

"What the hell happened?" she exclaimed once they were in view of the first family; completely ignoring their somber expressions.

"He nearly died, he was just playing on the retaining wall in the garden, and he slipped and cracked his head," Charlene said, stifling a sob.

" _Fuck,"_ she cursed, pinching the bridge of her nose in concentration. "Did he say what he was doing before hand?"

Charlene shook her head. "No, but he… he enjoyed going outside to pretend to be an acrobat."

Keen groaned in frustration. "That wasn't acting, he's schizophrenic, I was sure he was but there were still some undefined points and now that this has happened I can officially say that your son is schizophrenic."

Charlene let out a sob.

Keen continued on, oblivious to the rest of the people and beginning to pace up a storm.

"You have three options," she declared. "One, say your son was out gardening, which the public will not believe for a multitude of reasons, one being that you have gardeners; two, he was playing football outside and dove into the wall, which just sounds pathetic; and the third being that you get up on a podium and you tell the public the truth about his condition. Would you rather it come out now, or later, because if there's one thing I've learned from my time with the Washington elite, it's that dirty little secrets always come out."

She attempted to soothe her voice. "Look, I'm going to get a coffee on the second floor, by the time I get back, you need to have your decision made."

Flinging her blazer over her elbow, she stalked off to the direction of the stairs, figuring that the descent would take less time than the elevator. President Cooper pointed at Ressler, cocking his head in a notion to follow her.

Ressler responded by running to the storming woman, attempting to catch up to her before she fell down the stairs. He reached her right as she began to brew the coffee, cautiously approaching her from behind, making sure to let his presence know so he couldn't scare her.

"Was I too harsh?" she whispered as he came to stand beside her.

He shook his head in response, electing to brew himself some coffee.

"Not at all," he said. "When you become president, you sign up for a lot of things, sympathy is not one of them."

She shrugged, sipping the warm drink as she thought it over.

"I guess. But if everyone was awful to them, then how can you really know who your allies and enemies truly are?"

He sighed, taking a swig of his drink.

"You don't, that's why the secret service is here."

She playfully narrowed her eyes.

"Are you talking to me as Ressler or Secret Service Agent Ressler?" she asked, curious.

He laughed. "Definitely Ressler, I doubt Agent Ressler would be able to bring himself to care that much to be honest."

She glanced at him, considering the man he was at the moment.

"You should let loose more often," she said.

The relaxed state of his shoulders slightly tightened at her openness, and he furrowed his brow in confusion.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

She shrugged.

"Stop being Agent Ressler as often."

He shook his head, giving her the rarest of smiles.

"Of course my only friend is a shrink."

She playfully opened her mouth, and if her husband had not been in the picture, he may have called it flirting. She lightly punched his arm, a faux scowl appearing on her lips.

"Agent Ressler, I am offended."

He laughed and she joined in, the pair beginning to stroll to the elevators to make their way back to the first family.

"Ress?" she whispered as they entered the elevator, and he tried to keep the look of shock off his face at the usage of a new nickname.

"Yeah," he replied.

"You like me enough to call me a friend?" she asked.

"Of course," he responded with a look of bafflement. "Liz you can call me anytime, seriously."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Really?"

He gave her a small smile. "Really."

She bit her lip to keep it from wobbling, staring at the numbers on the elevator as they moved through the floors.

"I thought you believed that I was a bitch," she confessed.

His eyes widened in alarm.

"What?" he asked. "I would never – God, _Liz,_ I could never hate you."

She gave him a watery smile, absentmindedly rubbing the scar on her wrist, attempting to compose herself before the elevator doors opened.

As soon as the doors opened, the tender moment was carefully forgotten, replaced with an overwhelming sense of urgency.

She strengthened her posture with authority, raising her chin and opting to look President Cooper directly in the eye.

"Did you make a decision?" she boldly asked, eyes slightly narrowing.

The President cleared his throat.

"We decided to release a statement this evening simply stating that details on his health will be given tomorrow morning at a press conference in the White House," he looked at her grimly. "At eight o'clock tomorrow morning, Agent Ressler will pick you up from your home, and you will be the one who delivers the news to the people."

She attempted to hide her shock at being put on the spot by continuing her "large and in-charge" façade.

"Yes sir, while I'm here I might as well prescribe his meds as well, he's going to need them."

President Cooper and Charlene glanced at each other for a moment, before nodding toward Keen.

"Good," she said, speeding away again with Ressler hot on her heels.

She talked to the psychiatrist on staff, showing her a small bit of the data to try and figure out witch medicine would be the proper fit, Ressler only speaking up to ensure that the man be sworn to secrecy.

After making a consecutive decision, they headed back to the first family; Keen clutching a bottle of pills.

"President Cooper," she greeted once more, this time with a slight smile lining her lips. "I have some pills, the lead psychiatrist on staff will give you the instructions in about an hour," she continued, raising her purse from it's position on her elbow to the top of her shoulder.

She gave him the bottle, and he took them gladly, scanning the label.

"Thank you," he managed after a moment and shook her hand.

This time, she directed her question to Ressler, who was shadowing her. "Are we done here? I have to get to the grocery store before it closes."

Ressler, attempting to act as though the pair were not becoming fast friends, nodded his head slightly. "Yes, ma'am."

She turned toward him, waving over her shoulder and following him out the side door once more, where she found herself flush against his chest as he attempted to protect her from any tabloids.

Once the pair got into the car, she broke down laughing, and he retaliated with a slight smile.

"We make a great team," she said, and he nodded simply in response, the atmosphere light and airy as they made way to the grocery store.

As they were pulling in, his phone rang.

She raised her brow, looking at him expectedly. "Aren't you going to grab that, Mister Secret-Agent-Dude?"

He snorted, a light smile gracing his features. "Yeah, yeah, what are the first six digits of the number, Keen?"

She picked up the Blackberry, squinting at the tiny print. "Uhh, 410-806 and I can't read the rest," she said, looking at him in defeat.

"Shit," he cursed, groaning in response as he grabbed the phone from her hand, his fingers lingering for a second more than appropriate.

She blushed at the exchange, while Ressler faced the road.

"Ressler," he answered, and it took all of her power to withhold laughing at him.

Liz hummed in response; flipping through the music on her phone for a suitable song to play once he was done talking.

"Hey Audrey, what's up?"

The tiniest flare of jealousy emerged in the pit of her stomach, and chalked it up to heartburn, refusing to believe that just after two weeks he had this affect on her.

His tone of voice changed, and she assumed that sorrow was leaking into his voice, but she could be wrong seeing as the man only had two modes, agent and sarcastic little shit.

"That's great, Aud. I'm happy for you, truly."

Suddenly, sarcastic little shit was back.

"Just tell me he doesn't wear tassles," he said in all seriousness, and this time, Keen didn't stifle her laugh.

He glared at her, and she ceased laughing, avoiding looking him in the eye.

"Nah, that's just my friend… _Liz_ ," he said, and though the term was forced, he said it so softly that it scared her, the way her heart began to flutter and her cheeks began to redden tale-telling.

"Bye Audrey," he said, and he hung up not a second later, moving to get out of the car.

They walked in mutual silence throughout the store, and he stopped in the first-aid isle to buy her cream for the burn on her neck, forever the gentlemen. She simply nodded, and the silence continued as she paid for her groceries, and as he helped her carry them to the back of his car.

"That was my ex-fiancée," he finally said, as they pulled out of the parking lot and into the flow of traffic.

She exhaled, turning her head to examine him.

"You don't owe me an explanation, Ressler," she said, and she watched as his eye contact faltered, so that his only focus was the road once more.

"I want to, someday," he said as he pulled in front of her house, and she smiled at him, unexpectedly giving his shoulder a squeeze.

"You're a good man Ressler," she admitted, releasing her grip on him to unbuckle herself. "See you tomorrow, bright and early."

He scoffed at her, and the Ressler she knew was suddenly back.

"Don't you dare wake up late, Keen."

 **I have no idea when the next chapter will be up, I'm very busy this week! Please review!**


	3. When Your So Called Friends Turn Away

**I'm so sorry about the delay guys, I am spending a lot of energy on school, but hopefully it won't take me this long to update for the next chapter. Trust me I have not given up on this story! To make up for it I made this chapter longer than usual so yay!**

Liz got up extremely early the next morning, taking time to curl her hair. She wore a simple black suit with a lavender shirt and red lipstick, attempting to look soothing, yet professional.

Tom was still asleep, hung-over from his latest spur with alcohol the previous night, which was a silent victory for her; this allowed her to eat the chocolate chip muffin sitting on the counter for breakfast without being told that she was fat.

She grinned to herself, maybe there were _some_ advantages to Tom being drunk all of the damn time.

A crisp double knock revived her from her thoughts as she sat the muffin down on the kitchen table, a copy of _The Washington Post_ lying next to the plate. Her smile grew wider, and she skipped down the hall to the front door, opening it to reveal a very business-like Ressler.

"Do you ever sleep?" she teased, opening the door wider and gesturing to the hallway. "You're early, come on in I was just about to make a pot."

He nodded with a, "good morning, Keen," and followed her into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him.

He sat down in the open seat next to where her breakfast was set up, shaking his head in amusement at the choice of a muffin; it was so juvenile, yet it represented her personality beautifully.

The speaker on the island played some preppy pop song that sounded like a teenager's ballad, to which she hummed and bobbed her head along to the beat. It was so _domestic_ to watch this side of her, pouring two mugs of coffee and dousing hers with cream and sugar. He didn't know why, but he wanted to see her do this again.

"I'm going to guess you take your coffee black, Mr. Secret-service-agent-dude," she jested, swaying to the music as she brought him his coffee.

"I do actually, Mrs. Shrink-woman," he quipped, which caused both of them to laugh good-naturedly.

She sat down, placing a napkin in her lap and beginning to cut the muffin up.

"Hey can you read the paper to me so I can eat please?" she asked, cocking her head towards her copy of _The Post_.

He hummed in response, sipping from his coffee. "Sure."

He grabbed the paper and began on the front page as she ate, until they were interrupted a few moments later by a loud thumping noise on the stairs.

"Lizzie!" a male voice yelled, and immediately her eyes went from carefree to troubled. "Turn that fucking music off now, I have a headache!"

She turned in her chair toward the stairs, raising her voice. "I'm about to leave in like," she checked her watch. "Five minutes, Tom!"

"What?" he yelled back, stomping down the stairs.

She bit her lip in defense, and ran over to the island, turning the music off.

Tom stormed into the kitchen, glaring at her. "What did you say?"

She gulped, and to anyone else besides Ressler, she looked as if she had full control over the situation.

"I said that I am going to leave for work in five minutes," she said again, her tone level.

He marched toward her, grabbing her by the crook of her arm, eyes flashing toward the muffin remains. "What did I tell you about eating muffins, Lizzie?" he said violently, his fingers digging into her skin.

She winced, adverting his gaze. "Not to eat them. But I –"

"What did I tell you about looking me in the eye?" he spat, raising his hand toward her unprotected cheek.

She cringed, waiting for the inevitable impact that would take hours to cover up with makeup, the not so friendly twitch of her right wrist reminding her of that particular struggle.

The hand never reached her face.

"Hey!" another voice yelled, a paler hand enclosing Tom's wrist.

In all of the fear and anger, she had completely forgotten that Ressler was there.

"Who the fuck are you?" Tom cried, looking at him with venom.

"Donald Ressler," he said, a look of disapproval hovering over his face. "Secret Service."

Tom laughed bitterly, eyes darting between Keen and Ressler, the former wincing as he let go of her arm with a brute amount of force.

"Let me ask you this again," Tom said, rounding on Ressler. "Who are you? Her boyfriend or something?"

Ressler looked as if he was about to snarl, and before Keen could do anything, he shoved Tom, glaring at him.

"Elizabeth Keen is your wife," he said bitterly, a look of disbelief flashing in his eyes. "And though it is not my business, you don't treat your wife like a punching bag," he finished, turning toward Keen with a softer look as tears threatened to spill.

"Come on, Liz," he said, walking over to her and placing his hand on the small of her back to guide her through the hallway.

" _Ressler watch out!"_ she cried, as Tom's fist collided with the back of his head, causing him to stumble forward and nearly knocking him down.

Her arm instantly wrapped around him, and she glared at her husband over his shoulder. He placed one hand on her back and the other one on her shoulder for support as his body debated on whether or not it should give in to oblivion.

"Tom!" she hissed, her arm tightening around Ressler as she felt him begin to falter. "What the hell? Gina is coming in three hours. I need you to clean yourself up and stop punching my friends, damn it!"

"Well it was his fault in the first place!" Tom boomed, looking at her in disgust. "It's my right to protect you, look at him he's practically groping you now!"

"Son of a bitch," Ressler murmured in her ear as his head drooped on her shoulder, her fingers trailing up his back to soothe the base of his neck.

"Tom, you just punched a Secret Service agent, you could be arrested for that," she emphasized, beginning to drag both her and Ressler through the doorway and onto the street.

"Bye!"

She dragged him into the passenger seat as he slowly began to regain his wits, pulling his phone and keys out of his back pocket, (which she would later admit was kind of awkward) and running to the driver's side.

She searched for the President's number in his contacts, smirking to herself at the limited amount of contacts.

"Cooper," a crisp voice answered, and she cleared her throat.

"Sir, it's Doctor Keen," she said, a professional tone of voice coming into play.

"What are you doing on Agent Ressler's phone?" he said, alarm beginning to creep into his voice.

"That's what I'm calling about, sir. Agent Ressler fell while picking me up this morning. He banged his head on the side of the car, but luckily there are no gashes. I think he has a concussion."

"Damn it," President Cooper cursed.

"I was wondering if I should drop him off at the hospital before I head to the White House for the press conference."

He hummed in response, and she risked a glance at Ressler in the rearview mirror, who had finally lost the battle of consciousness after he was sure that she was safe.

"I'll move the press conference to in front of the hospital where Harry is, there's already a media frenzy on the lawn, so it should not be that much of an inconvenience," he said, and she exhaled in relief.

"Okay, good. See you there, sir."

"Bye Doctor Keen."

She hung up, throwing his phone in the front cup holder, something she had watched him do hundreds of times. She placed her other hand on the steering wheel, and altered her direction to the hospital, sneaking worried glances at him every few minutes.

She's not sure how they became this, but she's positive that it's a turn for the better in their relationship, she likes him and respects him, something she was not sure that she would have been able to do just over two weeks ago.

They arrived fifteen minutes later, and she was extremely worried about the lack of response from Ressler; from her angle she could tell that he was breathing but he had not moved his head since he lost consciousness.

She slipped his phone in her pocket, unbuckling her seatbelt and jumping out the door. She jogged around the hood to his side, flinging open the door in the process. Leaning across him, she wrapped his arm around her neck and hauled him out of the seat, shifting underneath him to transfer his weight to her.

As she took the first step, he began to groan. Burying his head in the crook of her neck, her curls tickling his cheeks. His steps began to falter, and she readjusted her arms so that they were around his waist as he clutched her back.

"You're good," she whispered, and though it was completely unprofessional, she found herself stroking the baseline of his hair.

"Liz?" he whispered in confusion, attempting to lift his head.

"I'm here," she whispered back, and she couldn't help the tears of relief that threatened to fall.

"Are you hurt?" he asked for a moment, pushing back to look her over, his arms still locked around her waist.

Butterflies exploded in her chest, and her breath hitched as he scanned her.

"I think I'm okay, he grabbed my shoulder a little roughly, so there will probably be a bruise there, but that's easy to hide under clothes."

He growled in response, and she was so surprised she nearly dropped him.

"Has he done it before?" he asked, and she hesitated for a moment.

"I-"

A Middle Eastern looking woman walking toward them cut them off.

"Agent Meera Malik," she stated, her voice revealing a thick British accent.

"CIA."

She flashed her badge.

"President Cooper sent me to escort both you and Agent Ressler into the hospital where Agent Ressler is to receive medical attention for his head and where Dr. Keen will prepare for her address to the people. Questions?"

Liz bit her lip, remaining silent in unease.

"Good," Agent Malik continued, soothing the wrinkles in her cotton shirt. "Now, I believe that the entrance you used yesterday is still open. I recommend that you keep up the game that you played yesterday, Agent Ressler, I know that you are not steady on your feet right now, but Dr. Keen can not hold onto you, it's too suspicious. We don't need any tabloids commenting on a supposed relationship between you two."

She narrowed her eyes at them coldly.

Ressler readjusted his grip on Liz so that he was holding on to her back by weaving his arms around her shoulders, reminders of etiquette from middle school home economics running through his mind.

"Duck your head so that it's below my chest Liz, you can sustain me by pressing here," he said, motioning to the right side of his abdomen.

She nodded, positioning herself so that she was flush against his chest.

"I'll be on your left to help move you along, there are a few reporters but not too many that you can handle," Agent Malik said, walking up beside her, enclosing her in. "Let's get a move on."

Surprisingly they handled the walk to the door well, all Agent Malik had to do was flash her badge and push both Ressler and Keen along. When they stepped inside the door, several doctors with a hospital bed were waiting for them, and Keen grabbed onto his shirt, hauling him along to the bed.

"Please! I just walked through a hoard of paparazzi, I can make it to an elevator and up to a room," he protested, throwing his waist around her.

"Agent Ressler," the doctor said, the nametag stating Kate Kaplan. "From what Dr. Keen told us, you hit the car a little hard, I suggest we roll you to your room, even if it is a concussion."

He glanced toward her to find her bottom lip wobbling. He smiled softly at her, even if he was a little mad that she refused to get help.

"Get on the bed, Agent Ressler," the tips of her ears turning red at the thought.

He climbed on the bed without protest, and saluted her as they wheeled him away.

"As heartwarming as that was Dr. Keeen, President Cooper is waiting for you in the lobby, a section of the front patio was cleared for you to give a statement. It should be no longer than a minute and a half, and allow yourself three and a half minutes to answer questions, we are on a strict schedule.

"Handpicked members from the CIA, Secret Service, and DCPD are here as well for your protection. It is highly unlikely that there will be an assassination attempt on your life at this time, however there are risks when you speak on the First Family in this manner. Your given name of Masha Rostova can be considered a threat. Do you accept the risks?"

She nodded slightly.

" I do."

"Good," Agent Malik said, stopping at the door to the front entrance. "Good luck Dr. Keen."

Keen took a deep breath, relaxing her shoulders as she stepped out the front door.

 _"Fallaces sunt rerun species,"_ she whispered to herself, attempting to ignore the flashing of cameras and the sounds of questions being fired at her as she made her way to the podium.

She couldn't help the feeling of unease as she glanced around the crowd, the obvious fact staring her right in front of her face. Ressler wasn't there, the only agent she felt comfortable with; her shadow, the only person besides Raymond Reddington who places her before anyone else.

She inhaled, rolling her shoulder blades backward.

"Good morning," she began into the microphone, the other voices around her instantly silencing the crowd; the only sounds were the clicking of cameras.

"My name is Dr. Elizabeth Keen. Two weeks ago, I was brought forth a case file on President Cooper's youngest child, Harold Jr. After several hour sessions, I diagnosed Harold Jr. with Schizophrenia. For those of you who do not know, Schizophrenia is a mental illness that can produce hallucinations and feelings of insecurity. Harold Jr.'s stay in the hospital is directly related to this illness; however, this was not an attempt on his life. The president will spend more time with his family, however he will still be able to attend to his duties as if this crisis is not going on. I will be at Harold Jr.'s side during this difficult time. At this time I will be taking questions."

She pointed to the ginger in the front, biting her lip delicately.

"Are we sure that you have the qualifications and clearance level to deal with this?"

Keen smiled at her, holding in an expression of irritation. She knew that these questions would be asked, however, it still hurt to have someone doubt her.

"I graduated from The College of Saint Rose with a BS in Forensic Psychology, and then proceeded to obtain both a masters and doctorate in Clinical Psychology from Columbia, so yes, I am qualified for this job. Next question."

A black man in the front raised his hand, and she called on him.

"Will you be giving us updates on his condition?"

She directed her smile toward him, saying the words President Cooper had drilled into her before she had left the day before.

"The president has no further statements on this subject to be made at this time. This is a private matter, however, the president believes that it is important for the people to have a general understanding of what is happening. Next question."

She pointed to another woman, this time with short, blonde hair.

"Did you put the president's son on any pills?"

She hesitated briefly before speaking.

"Yes, however these will not disturb his personality and the goal of the medicine is to help, not hurt him. Next question."

There was a slight uproar, but she pushed forward, calling on the Asian man who stood patiently in the middle of the crowd.

"Does the president know who your mother is?" he asked, voice thick with a Japanese accent.

She blinked suddenly, attempting to appease the crowd by looking as if this question did not unnerve her greatly.

"I'm afraid that we are out of time," she said, adverting his glare and stepping away from the podium, leaving the secret service to deal with the zoo of reporters.

Agent Malik was waiting for her once she entered the lobby.

"That was nice, however the diversion tactic at the end there will mostly lead to a media frenzy, but hey, you tried."

Keen flashed her a fake smile. "Thanks, I guess."

Agent Malik cleared her throat. "Agent Ressler is upstairs, he's being discharged with a mild concussion, however, you'll have to drive him home, President Cooper says that the debriefing will have to wait until Monday. Have a good evening, Dr. Keen."

Keen nodded in response, heading to the stairwell. After making the trek to the next floor, a private wing for both Harry and Ressler, she slipped into his room, taking a seat in the empty chair next to his head. He was sitting up, still in his suit, at which she chuckled.

"Hey," she said softly after a moment, and he glanced at her, the news on in the background.

"Hi," he responded.

The silence between them was comfortable, however, there was an unspoken emotion flooding through the room at the same time, causing a slight inner turmoil between both parties.

"Can I ask you two personal questions?" he asked after a moment, and she adverted her gaze from the television to back at him.

"Go ahead," she responded, even though she felt slightly weary.

"Does he hurt you often?" he asked, and she sighed, glancing down at her folded hands.

"Yes."

Though he had surprised her many times today, this would have to take the cake. He reached across her lap, grasping one of her hands in his.

"Do you want me to rough him up for you?"

She let out a choked sob, and glanced at him with so much raw emotion that it nearly brought him to tears.

"What's the other one?"

"What did the reporter mean? The Mako Tanida guy."

She inhaled sharply.

He attempted to soothe the relations between them. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to touch any nerves," he said, removing his hand from hers.

"No, it's okay, I'm just going to wait to tell you until after we get into the car. Come on, let's get you into the car."

He could walk in a straight line this time around, though he had to occasionally lean on her for support. The DCPD had managed to clear the parking lot at this time, so the walk to the car was not as brutal as it was before, and once she got near his apartment, which was twenty minutes away from hers, she opened up to him.

"My mother was Katarina Rostova," she confessed to him, and she saw his eyes slightly widen as they pulled into the parking lot.

"She was a world known terrorist and KGB agent. My birth name is Masha Rostova."

They sat in silence once again.

"This doesn't change how I view you, I hope you know," he said, looking at her.

She smiled a pain filled smile at him.

"Good night Ressler."

The drive between his apartment and her house was a bit of a blur. She knew that Tom would be mad at her for leaving him with Gina, they hated each other, probably more than he hated her. She was home an hour earlier than she thought she was going to be, which was an improvement, so the amount of yelling could only decrease from here on out.

She stepped through the doorway, throwing her purse around the banister, and surprisingly, there was no yelling. In fact, the place was as quiet as a mouse. She shook off the feeling that she shouldn't go upstairs, and headed toward their bedroom.

She heard them long before she saw them, and when she saw the pair in _her_ bed, her best friend and her husband, she sobbed, running out of the room in the manner in which she came. She grabbed her purse from the place on the banister, and before she could realize what was happening, she was driving in the direction she just came, dialing a number.

"Ress I need you," she breathed into the phone, tears flooding her vision.

 **I hope you guys enjoyed this! Please review! xx**


	4. A Shadow Crosses Over Your Face

**Thank you guys for leaving these awesome reviews! I am truly amazed that I finished this chapter this quickly to be honest. Don't expect anything until Halloween; I'm very busy for the next few weeks. (SATS and Softball) I hope you all enjoy!**

"Liz," he said calmly on the other line, as she began to hyperventilate.

She was so wound up she missed the change in terminology, her calves coils of anxiety wound so tight that they were about to burst. She knew what an anxiety attack looked like; she used to get multiple ones at a time in high school and college, and she knew her symptoms. The tightness in her calves and trapezoid, and the aching pain right above her heart were the first signs that she was about to fly over the edge.

"Talk to me Liz," he repeated, this time a little more urgently. "Where are you? I'd come get you if I could drive."

She shuddered, attempting to keep her breathing under control. She knew that once she lost control on her breathing, she became a vegetable for the next two days.

"You don't have to worry about that," she said, the pitch in her voice rising slightly. "I'm two minutes away from your apartment."

"Okay," he responded, and she could envision him running a hand through his hair in an attempt to calm his nerves.

"What's your favorite drink from Starbucks?" he asked suddenly, and she was so confused she almost missed the turn to his apartment building.

"What?" she blurted genuinely confused.

"Just answer the question," he said, a slight undertone of humor to his voice.

"I like iced mochas with no whipped cream," she said, and though she was damn near folding to the attack, it helped to keep her mind off of it.

"What's your favorite TV show?"

She attempted to laugh, but even that was watery.

"I like Friends," she confessed, and she heard a light chuckle on the other end of the line, as she pulled into a parking spot in his black sedan, having taken it back to her house earlier.

"And sometimes I like to watch Scandal."

He laughed, but she could detect the worry laced in it, and as she waked toward the elevators her hands began to shake.

"What is your favorite color?"

She paused for a moment. No one had asked her this before.

"Purple," she said after a moment. "I've always loved the color of lilac, it calms me even if I see it much more often than most."

The slight growl on the opposite end of the line was muffled, but it made her heart swell at the fact that he cared enough to let Tom bother him.

"I'm in the elevator now," she whispered, changing the subject as her voice beginning to falter.

"Hey, hey, you're good for now just…" he trailed off and she felt her vision begin to blur with unshed tears.

"What do you say to yourself when you need to be strong?" he asked out of nowhere as the elevator doors opened.

"What do you mean?" she asked as she dragged her way down the hall and to his door, raising her hand to knock.

"You know what I mean, Liz."

She grasped the handle, slowly pushing it down.

" _Fallaces sunt rerum speices,"_ she whispered into the phone, hanging it up a heartbeat later.

She opened the door, stepping into the room, coming face to face with him as he shut the door behind her.

"It means "for the appearances of things are deceptive,'" she finished, her eyes pouring into his.

He wrapped his arms around her and she sobbed into his chest, burying her head in the crook of his neck.

"You're safe here, Liz," he said quietly, gripping her tightly as he maneuvered her into his living room. "Let it out."

They sat down on his sofa, and his arms trailed up and down her back with no particular rhythm, as the sobs wracked her body. He began to loose track of time after a while as she calmed down slightly, her breath hitching every few seconds as she attempted to return her breathing to normal. They had lain down on the sofa, and she was cuddled into his chest. His right arm was draped over her torso as a lazy attempt at protection, and her head was tucked beneath his chin as he hummed slightly.

He was so content with the idea of her in his life, which was a sudden revelation that appeared out of nowhere in particular. The idea of her was foreign to him; she had entered his life so quickly and unexpectedly, yet she had turned his life around for the better.

"I'm sorry," she whispered after a moment, attempting to sit up in his lopsided embrace.

He relaxed his hold on her as she sat upright, but to his surprise she clutched his hand tightly, placing it back around her.

"Please don't let go," she said quickly, her eyes wild. "I-I don't feel loved, and when you touch me I feel like someone cares," she confessed, her eyes swelling with tears.

"Of course I care Liz," he said, running his other hand through her hair. "But I was trying to give you space. You just met me two weeks ago, for all you know I could be a bottle ginger."

His attempt at humor backfired as she began to cry again, her head drooping.

"I'm so sorry Ress, I was insensitive, I shouldn't have come I just didn't know where else to go!"

She sobbed once more, and he tucked her back into his chest, pressing his lips to her head.

"You're safe here, Liz," he said again, and this time she calmed down, her breathing still slightly uneven.

She rested her head on his shoulder, and though the skin around her eyes was red and swollen from crying, and the part of her sweater that was underneath her arms was damp with sweat she looked beautiful.

"He cheated on me," she said, her voice hoarse.

He froze, his fingers curling around the strand of hair that he had been running his hand through moments before.

"I came home and he was in bed with my best friend from college," she continued, weary of the sudden clench in his jaw.

"And it bothers me not just because my trust in a person was shattered, but because I sacrificed _so_ much for him. I was beaten and raped, and there are scars on my upper thighs from where he would cut me. I can't wear backless dresses without feeling ashamed of the burn mark where he set me a flame with the candle that was supposed to smell like flannel. And then there's the scar on my wrist from the fire that Reddington pulled me out of and he would make fun of it, telling me that I'm not special and that no one loved me, the fire was proof of that."

She ran a hand through her hair, sighing in frustration as her breathing became more rapid.

"And I did it all for Dad! He told me that he was the only way for me to be safe and that the legacy of my mother would come back to haunt me unless I married Tom and so I did and he turned a blind eye when Tom beat me."

She shuddered.

"I was the _perfect_ wife. I cooked and I cleaned for him. When he would hurt me I would stitch myself up and scrub the blood from the carpet and I'd spend hours in that damn bathroom scrubbing the throw up off of the tile from when he drank too much. I even sacrificed my dream of going into the FBI for him; I switched majors in grad school from forensic psychology to clinical psychology."

She laughed, and it was maniac, and to him it looked like she had been drugged.

"Now look at me, well respected in my work life doing a job that I don't even want to do and yet my personal life is shit."

"Son of a bitch," he said after a moment, pulling her closer to him.

"You deserve so much better than him Liz, I don't want him any where near you, do you understand?"

She nodded, biting her lip to keep the tears at bay.

"Tonight we are going to make a list of things you want from the house, and we are going to draft up an annulment, and by draft I mean we are going to figure out where you can get that done, okay? Tomorrow, I'm going to go into the house and pack everything you want into several boxes and we'll bring it here. I have a guest room directly next to my bedroom, so you're moving in here, he won't suspect you to be here which makes you safe. We'll also transfer all of your money into a new account and detach your name from the mortgage."

She shook her head.

"You don't have to do all of that Ress, honestly I can just sleep in a motel or something until I find an apartment. And you have a concussion! You shouldn't be driving!"

He chuckled.

"Don't worry about me Liz, if it makes you feel better you can drive me but I'm not letting you go in there."

She smiled, and curled herself into his chest once more, leaning upward and pressing a kiss to his jawline.

"I'm so lucky I met you," she said, her eyelids drooping.

"Oh Liz, I'm the lucky one."

She fell asleep in his arms, and he let her sleep for an hour or two before nuzzling her awake, and dragging her to the spare room. Her eyes fluttered open as he sat her down.

"I'll get you some clothes," he whispered.

She nodded sleepily and sat against the headboard.

He came back a few moments later with a t-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts.

She raised a brow.

"Baltimore Ravens?" she asked, holding up the purple shirt playfully. "I pegged you as a Redskins fan."

He shrugged.

"I've always loved the Ravens, when I moved here it gave me an excuse to buy apparel. Besides, you said your favorite color was purple."

Her eyes swelled with tears, and she threw her arms around him, removing them a fraction of a second later.

"Thank you so much Ress, good night."

"Good night, Liz."

She slept soundly, the smell of his cologne was everywhere, which soothed her, and for the first time in years she felt genuinely safe.

The only thing that woke her was the smell of Belgian waffles in the kitchen, and though she was slightly disoriented, she padded out the door, pulling her hair into a bun. She was slightly surprised to see Ressler in the kitchen, twirling about with a bowl in the kitchen as he heated up the waffle iron.

"What are you doing?" she said, laughing as he discreetly licked the spatula.

"Making waffles. It's 10:30, I didn't have the heart to wake you."

He shoved the spatula in her face.

"You want some?"

She laughed and licked a bit off of the spatula he was holding, punching him in the arm playfully.

"I hate pancakes so I'm sorry if you were expecting pancakes," he said, pouring some of the batter onto the waffle iron.

"I wasn't expecting this at all, honestly. And I hate pancakes too; before Tom showed his true colors he used to make them for me, even if I told him that I didn't like them. I guess I should have realized that something wasn't right then."

He gave her a small smile.

"Eat up, Liz. I'm taking you to Starbucks after we get your stuff."

She smiled back at him and the pair ate in a comfortable silence, only broken with bantering over what they should watch later in the evening.

The entire atmosphere of his apartment was so laid back that she felt at ease. Her thoughts kept repeating herself, the ideas of safety and warmth could not stop running through her mind, however, no matter how many times she thought it, the words did not serve the way she felt justice.

She helped him clean up, and he squirted water from the faucet at her, causing a full on water battle to proceed between the two. (If you ask them later, Ressler will claim that he won, however if you ask him alone he'll tell you that she won fair and square with the most loving look in his eyes.)

She changed out of the now soaked Ravens shirt into the clothes that she wore the day before, forgoing the blazer.

"Are you ready Ress?" she called as she finished applying makeup, she always kept spare mascara and bronzer in her purse.

She used the travel comb she had stashed in the bottom of the purse to pull her hair back into a ponytail, and she decided to leave her purse in the room, she didn't feel like getting robbed from either Gina or Tom today.

"I'm coming!" he called from the bathroom as he attempted to finish shaving before she reached the front door.

She laughed at him and perched herself on the kitchen counter, scrolling through her phone to come across three missed calls from both Tom and Gina, and she rolled her eyes.

"I'm ready!" he said a moment later, running down the hallway in a polo and jeans.

"Gina called, but I'm not going to call her back, I'll see her soon enough I guess," she said.

"That sounds like a smart idea. I loaded some empty boxes in the back of the SUV this morning while you were asleep. And after processing what I said last night, I think it's probably best if both of us go in, we never did get around to making that list, and it's better if you face both of them now rather than later."

He motioned toward the door and she followed him, the pair walking down the hallway and to the car where she resumed his usual place as the driver, and he piled into the passenger seat. She turned the radio on and sang along to it, smiling as Ressler joined in. Though she was going to end a chapter in her life, she didn't find herself feeling that sad at all.

They arrived at the townhouse twenty minutes later. He opened the car door for her, and in return she led him to the front door, deciding to ring the doorbell. Tom answered three minutes later, an improvement from his usual five.

"Lizzie!" he exclaimed as he opened the door, glancing at Ressler in confusion.

"What the hell is he doing here?"

She flashed him a faux smile, stepping into the foyer.

"Agent Ressler was kind enough to help me get my stuff from over here, I think it's time for an annulment, don't you agree?"

He shook his head furiously.

"Lizzie, Gina and I were just messing around! You know me, always the jester."

She laughed at him, moving so that she was slightly in front of Ressler, who clenched his fist.

"You jest an awful lot, that's for sure," she said, attempting to push forward into the family room. "However, I don't believe that you were jesting when it came to last night. Look, I know you didn't want to be in this marriage anyway. An annulment is a chance for you and Gina to do your own thing and for me to finally get the hell out of here, you know how much I've been wanting to change careers, this could be a fresh start for me too."

He sighed giving way to the remainder of the house.

"Fine. But you have one hour for the Boy Scout and you to pack up what you want, anything else is mine. Got it? Gina and I are going out to lunch, you better be gone before we return."

"Yes," she answered, and ran out the door to get the boxes.

The first thing they tackled was her closet, throwing in as many articles of clothing as they possibly could.

"I'll be right back, I have to take the safe to the car before Tom gets back, he'll want it for himself, believe me."

She hauled the box of metal down the stairs and out into the car, placing it between the boxes of clothes. She jogged back inside with the last two empty boxes, running upstairs to meet Ressler.

"We have fifteen minutes left," he said, motioning to his watch.

She nodded, toying with her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Right. I've grabbed everything that's important, so I guess we just go through the rest of the rooms and take anything else that I want. You take up here, and I'll go through downstairs."

"Okay," he said, whistling as he moved into the office space.

Downstairs, she grabbed a bunch of decorative signs, tossing them into the box, as well as any framed pictures of her and her dad. She decided to pack the wedding china as well, she was sure she could pawn it off to make a profit so that she wouldn't have to be in Ressler's hairs for too long. She placed the majority of her book collection inside the box as well, her collections of _Vanity Fair_ and _Vogue_ were used as a buffer between the china and books.

"Are you done up there?" she yelled once she had placed her last box in the car.

"I want to take this leather chair, but I can't lift it on my own."

"I'm coming!" he replied, running down the stairs with a filled box.

"We have two minutes left before he comes back, and though this was my favorite chair, he'd want to keep it for himself."

He nodded, setting his box on the floor.

"Alrighty, let's do this," he said, instructing her to lift up one side of the chair.

They had no troubles getting the chair out of the front door and into the car. She hopped into the front seat and started the engine.

" _Shit!"_ he exclaimed, running back into the house.

"Ress where the hell are you going?" she called after him, wincing as she saw Tom's car pull onto the street.

"I almost forgot the other box!" he yelled, running down the stairs as Tom pulled into the driveway.

"Hey!" Tom yelled after him, stopping the car as Ressler threw the box into the back of the SUV.

"I told you to be gone!"

He jumped out of the car, chasing after them as Liz bolted down the road.

"Get the fuck out!"

The pair laughed inside the cabin of the SUV as they drove away, heading toward the Starbucks Ressler said he would buy her.

"Thank you so much for the past two days," she said when they got to the first red light.

"It really means a lot."

He smiled at her and grabbed her hand, rubbing circles near her thumb.

"My pleasure, Liz."

~(~

"Masha is in the hands of Agent Ressler now," Tom Keen spoke into the pay phone, Gina pressing kisses to his neck.

"This is very unfortunate Agent Phelps, it seems like we're going to have to move up our timetables," a man with a Japanese accent replied. "Have Agent Zanetakos come with you to the _Washington Post,_ I believe it's time for some news to reach the public. I'll have Agent Bidwell do her part of the plan tonight. Rest well."

 **Thank you guys for reading, this chapter is more of a filler honestly. Please review! xx**


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